a rope could swing us

long and light across a widening trough

of all that fails us in our lives,

I would want to land upon the Isle of Echo,

lush with repetition, green with being

original in birth and twice the twin

a wave might dance along the skerry.

I would want a canyon tall for hawks to carry

long the deep tattoo of voices on the air.

I would want an ear to hear

what words to read again to memory,

what verse to carol, thoughts to root

before the sparrow’s flight the mind has taken

comes to rest on truth. I would want

to hear a vowel repeat in consonance

with alliteration’s frothy throat.

And should the landing fail its footing,

I would want to know what inspiration

in shorter flight one syllable might repeat

as in the swash the flat-stone makes

to skip across the light in water

or the voice a wind gives to birch and linden.

I would want the distance to all understanding

to narrow just enough to fail at failure.

I would want a melody of chances

to learn to love again what first I dreamed,

free as wonder, soft as touch,

and of all things simple

to care again for them as much.